


Yuri Plisetsky, five year-old killer of men

by perennials



Series: babysitting au [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, M/M, not much in the romantic department but u get dramatic viktor n bratty yurio hey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perennials/pseuds/perennials
Summary: “Um, hi. I'm the new babysitter,” says the new babysitter.“Hi, I'm the old babysitter." Viktor smiles brightly.-In which walls are vandalized, lipstick becomes a weapon of mass destruction, and Viktor flaunts his beauty in an attempt to woo the new boy while trying not to burn the house down. Also, there is a cat and his name is Power Ranger #4.





	

**Author's Note:**

> to clarify:  
> viktor is 17, yuuri is 16, and yuri(o) is 5.  
> also, viktor is not a world famous figure skater here so the idol worship dynamic has been removed. is he still a figure skater? find out in the next episode of dragon ball z
> 
> that's all, read on

“Um, hi. I'm the new babysitter,” says the new babysitter.

 

Black-haired, brown-eyed, and sporting a pair of clunky blue glasses, he looks more like a cram school regular than the sort that’d read crumpled flyers tacked to a lamppost and call the number printed there in glaring red comic sans. To add to the effect, he's still dressed in full school uniform, the sleeves folded over his wrists and collar buttoned up to his chin.

 

He's a high schooler, probably(?). Maybe. Most likely.

 

“Hi, I'm the old babysitter,” Viktor smiles brightly. “I didn't think the Plisetsky’s would hire a kid.”

 

The boy shuffles uncomfortably on the spot. Presently he and Viktor are at the entrance to the Plisetsky household, Viktor with one hand on the doorknob as he leans playfully out the open door, the boy burning a hole through the placemat on the front step.

 

“I'm not a kid,” he finally replies, a tad indignant. “I'm sixteen.”

 

“Oh?” Viktor’s smile widens with something like surprise. He thinks he's kind of cute. “Okay then.”

 

“I'm Yuuri, by the way,” he adds, as he toes out of his shoes and dances around Viktor’s slim frame so he can step into the hallway. The carpet whispers where his feet land, tracking pale skin over the tasteless gray thing.

 

Viktor watches his movements idly out of the corner of his eye. “My name’s Viktor.”

 

He sticks out a hand in Yuuri’s direction, and the boy positively _jumps,_ back going so straight it leaves Viktor’s sexuality behind in the dust. He swears he sees his _glasses_ shiver. It takes all of his self-control not to dissolve into laughter right there and then.

 

After a second, Yuuri takes it.

 

“Looking forward to working with you, Yuuri.”

 

Viktor puts on Smile #35, the one he uses for charming doe-eyed year twos in the school corridors. Judging from the flush high on Yuuri’s cheeks, it's effective, until the sound of something hitting the floor hard sounds out from upstairs, and all thoughts of casual flirting are immediately tossed out the window.

 

Yuuri gulps. “We should, uh, check that out?”

 

“Right.”

 

//

 

Viktor’s hand is, and has been, poised on the doorknob for the last two and a half minutes.

 

The second floor of the Plisetsky household is cast in murky shadows, the low visibility largely thanks to the single, flickering light embedded in the dead center of the ceiling. It's been a few months since he started coming here, but Viktor still doesn't understand the point of populating the first floor with floor-to-ceiling light fixtures and leaving a lone, painfully weak LED light to defend the one above.

 

(“The earth is dying!” The Plisetsky grandfather had declared with feeling, when further prompted to talk about the electricity bill’s bizarre distribution.

 

Viktor had flashed Smile #44, designed specifically for bothersome adults with big mouths and waterlogged ears. “I am going to trip and die one of these days, and you will have no more babysitter.”

 

A disdainful snort. “There are better babysitters out there. It will be no loss to us.”

 

And Smile #44 had wavered, just the tiniest bit. For reasons.)

 

He turns to Yuuri, who's been silent as death for a while now, and gestures.

 

“What's the situation inside?”

 

Yuuri shakes his head. “I dunno. Can't hear a thing.”

 

Past experience tells Viktor that the five year old’s bedroom could resemble anything right now, from a desolate war zone to an extravagant piñata party. He hopes it’s the latter. Still—

 

“Maybe that sound was made by a body, you know—

 

Ouch! You didn't have to _pinch_ me.”

 

Rubbing his cheek gingerly, Viktor feigns a hurt expression.

 

Yuuri is unsympathetic. “If the kid dies, it's your fault.”

 

(Viktor comes to the conclusion that, despite his initial endearing shyness he seems to have an incredibly low tolerance for bullshit.)

 

“Okay, okay, I get it, let's just do this.” He turns the knob slowly, slowly, at a snail’s pace, if the snail were on fifteen different brands of sleeping medication and carrying a toad on its back. The wait is agonizing, but minimal noise is created, and eventually the interior of the room comes into full view.

 

This is what Viktor notices:

 

The walls are covered in brilliant, glittery fingerprints. His eyeshadow kit is laid open on the floor. The cat is nowhere to be seen.

 

This is what Yuuri notices:

 

The room is in _shambles_. The ladder leading up to the bunk bed has fallen on its side. There are pawprints on the walls.

 

But most jarring of all is the blond kid peeking out over the side of the bunk bed, wielding a tube of blue lipstick like a kitchen knife.

 

Yuuri balks. Meanwhile, Viktor, having seemingly recovered from his distress at having all his cosmetics absolutely _wrecked_ , picks his way nonchalantly through the candy-colored array of toys strewn around the room.

 

When he reaches the bunk bed (which, thankfully, isn't located very high up), he holds his arms out towards the kid invitingly.

 

“Need a hand getting down?”

 

Instead of a handful of decidedly soft, squishy kid, he gets stabbed in the face.

 

//

 

Yuuri finds the cat under the set of drawers not much longer after Viktor’s fall (it is a noble sacrifice, albeit), hissing angrily and looking like a Picasso painting.

 

“Power Ranger #4,” Viktor supplements helpfully, pulling a face at the mouthful of bitter lipstick he gets for his efforts. “His name’s Power Ranger #4.”

 

With a bit of patient coaxing unique to Katsuki Yuuri, the most deceptively gentle sixteen year-old to ever walk the Earth, Power Ranger #4 slinks out of his hiding place and lets himself be led to the shower hose in the bathroom. He stands prisoner under the spray of lukewarm water as Yuuri washes the blue-purple-pink out of his fur, mewling pitifully on occasion but not putting up much of a fight.

 

And so it is that, while toweling off the sad victim of a cat, Viktor and Yuuri finally manage to piece together the events that had happened prior.

 

Judging from the freshly torn sheets in the bunk bed, Power Ranger #4 must have been upstairs with the kid at some point. Judging from the designer’s array of makeup products in his fur, some forced cosmetic application had probably taken place, too.

 

“He probably tried to jump down from the bunk bed, and accidentally knocked the ladder off in the process, leaving the brat up there by himself,” Viktor speculates. It sounds outrageous yet profoundly realistic. Yuuri finds himself unable to disagree.

 

“Probably,” he nods.

 

It's only later, when both the kid and Power Ranger #4 have been cleaned up, that the thought occurs to him.

 

“The cat’s name is _Power Ranger #4_.”

 

Viktor grins at him. “Don't look at me. They let the five year old name the family pet. ‘S what happens.”

 

//

 

“This is ridiculous,” Viktor declares. "My face hurts all over. He probably left bruises. I am a wreck."

 

"It's _lipstick,_ Viktor."

 

"You try getting stabbed with the pointy end of a tube of lipstick and tell me how it feels." Viktor pouts and shakes his head irritably, hair tumbling loosely over his shoulders.

 

Yuuri huffs out a “stop moving around so much”, and resumes dabbing at Viktor’s face with the cotton puff soaked in makeup remover.

 

The vicious attack on Viktor from earlier had resulted in a haphazard mess of little lines and slashes all over his face, but most prominent of all is the inch-thick stripe of _Jawbreaker Blue_ that starts just below his left eye, crosses the bridge of his nose, and ends at the bottom right corner of his mouth. Viktor had not been aware of the state of affairs, and had let out a decidedly horrified wail when he saw himself in the bathroom mirror.

 

Naturally, he thinks it's hideous; Yuuri looks far, far too amused.

 

“He almost got it where it was supposed to go.” He laughs a pretty, tinkling laugh.

 

And Viktor should be offended— probably is, really, on some tacky surface level, but his heart stutters to a split-second stop at the sound of Yuuri’s voice.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” he replies in lieu of saying _could you laugh again, just one more time, what a lovely sound_. Chris is of the outdated belief that corny pickup lines are still effective in this day and age, but Viktor thinks he knows better.

 

In need of a distraction, he drags his gaze slowly from one side of the room to the other, reveling in all the clean-up work they're going to have to do after they're done fixing his face. The floor is crowded with building blocks, ragged, sad-looking stuffed animals, and an assortment of other items he supposes five year olds consider entertainment. Further up the baby-blue walls are _still_ covered in what he now knows for sure are makeup stains, while the lacy trimmings on the snow-white curtains are stained with lavender-blue bruises.

 

Yuri— the snot-nosed brat— had been temporarily placated with a generous number of apple slices, and now sits on the alphabet carpet a few feet away from them. He looks like the poster-perfect five year old now that he's not trying to kill someone, with round, apple-white cheeks, a mop of pretty sunshine hair, and large, emerald-green eyes.

 

“You are terrible,” Viktor tells him.

 

“You are a child,” Yuuri quips.

 

Yuri sticks out his tongue.

 

“No, see, _he_ is the child. I'm seventeen.”

 

Yuuri’s eyebrows shoot up at ‘seventeen’, and maybe, just maybe, if Viktor’s not seeing things through a lipstick fume-clouded haze, his cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink.

 

“I thought you were in college or something.”

 

Viktor works his lips into smile #23, the pretty, blinding one with the indigo glitter-effects and a generous dose of handsome.

 

“To be fair, I thought you were thirteen.”

 

//

 

It takes them the rest of the afternoon to get the room back in order, and at the end of it both are exhausted.

 

Viktor turns on the A/C at five and flops down on the floor beside Yuuri, who's staring at the ceiling with lidded eyes.

 

"We're leaving at five thirty,” Yuuri mumbles.

 

“Thirty minutes of cool air is more than enough,” Viktor returns.

 

“Won’t his parents get mad at you for incurring extra electricity bills?”

 

“They don't care. I make sure the kid doesn't burn the house down; they keep me hired.”

 

Yuri waddles over and plants one sock-covered foot on Viktor’s chest.

 

Viktor groans. “Get off me, Yuri.”

 

“I'm not even _touching_ you.”

 

“No, I mean,” Viktor levels himself up on his elbows and meets Yuri’s fiery stare. “This Yuri.”

 

"You're loud," Yuri accuses.

 

Yuuri rolls over and sits back up. “The cat’s name is Power Ranger #4. The kid’s name is Yuuri.”

 

“Yuri. Spelled with one ‘u’.” He succeeds in disengaging Yuri and sets him down beside him, where he leans into Viktor’s side and promptly nods off.

 

Yuuri watches the exchange with a strange look in his eyes. “I don't know what to say.”

 

“Good night, maybe?” Viktor pats the sleeping kid on the head gently.

 

Yuuri sighs. “You two get along just fine, don't you?”

 

Viktor smiles wryly. “He drew on my face with lipstick.”

 

“But he likes you. Why'd they hire another babysitter?”

 

“Well, I’m not exactly the best at the not burning things down bit, as you can see.”

 

“Ah. I do see.”

 

The cool air and soft surface of the carpet lull all three of them to sleep after a while. Yuuri’s head ends up on Viktor’s shoulder, bridging the short distance between them while, trapped in the middle, Yuri mutters in his sleep beneath them.

 

//

 

When Yuuri turns up at eight in the morning on Saturday, the pretty boy with long silvery-gray hair and brilliant blue eyes is already there. He's wearing a blue sweatshirt a few sizes too large over sleek black tights, and colorful bangles on his wrists. Yuri is beside him, small hands fisted in the fabric around his knees.

 

“Hi,” Yuuri says, wrenching his eyes away from his half-exposed shoulder.

 

“Good morning! I look good, don't I?”

 

Yuuri flushes. “No. Yes. I mean, no. Nuh uh. No way.”

 

Luckily for him, selective hearing is one of Viktor’s many talents. “Thanks!”

 

He turns and waltzes back into the house, Yuri hanging from his leg like a very large, emotionally-charged handbag.

 

“You’re not welcome,” Yuuri grumbles.

 

Still reeling a bit, he wriggles out of his shoes, pushes his hair out of his face, and follows the pair inside.

**Author's Note:**

> so i have a fuck ton of ideas about getting all the rest of the skaters in and having them fight each other at preschool but well we'll see how long this enthusiasm lasts. this is the most bs thing ever but i'm having a good time so whatever, lol.  
> if ya liked it as usual consider leaving a kudo or a comment or don't, whatever, do what floats your boat because i'm setting mine on fire after wednesday and diving headfirst into the ocean, never to come back. when yoi ends so will i. how did i get here again. never mind.  
> if ya wanna hear me be bitter and also talk about future fic ideas i'm on twitter @ nikiforcvs as always, and tumble @ corpsentry
> 
> have a good one


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